


I know what you are up to

by Kaguya_hime



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Blood, Deadpool-style fluff kinda, Fluff, Ilness, M/M, Not Beta Read, Spideypool - Freeform, Wade Wilson Takes Care of Peter Parker, not quite porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2020-11-22 09:47:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaguya_hime/pseuds/Kaguya_hime
Summary: Peter's got a flu. Wade takes care - very efficiently.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's a side story for my bigger longer uncut and totally unfinished "Silver lining", which is not even born yet and I am already ripping it to pieces like a bloody shark. The events of this fic take place six month after Wade and Peter’s first meeting.

Peter asks the driver to drop him right in front of the gates, security measures be damned, waits for the taxi to go away and tries their doorbell for the first time in his life. Does it work at all? He presses the button again and waits for a long minute, shivering, shoulders hunched up. The wind is piercing and all he wants is coiling himself up in the soft bed… Peter presses the doorbell button a few more times, listening, and there is a definite ringing sound inside – so Wade is apparently not at home, strange. With a sigh Peter takes off the backpack, crouches, the unpleasant ringing in his ears still persisting, and starts searching for the keys, when the house door bangs loudly.

“Petey, you all right?!..”

The gates slowly open – and there is Wade all wet and naked except for the wet boxers, a gun in one hand and one of the katanas in the other, his temple covered in soap-suds.

Peter laughs out trying his best to sound guilty at the same time; he is still shaking, with laugh or from cold when Wade manages to carry everything inside – him, the backpack, all the weapons…

“What happened? Lost you keys?”

“No, I’m just a lazy-ass, sorry for making you worried, Wade… Thought I might use the door for once.” He closes his eyes and snuggles closer to Wade, it’s so good to be held like this.

Wade presses his cool lips to Peter’s forehead.

“Damn, you are hot.”

“No, you are hot! That was quite a sight. Good I’m staying overnight.” Peter nuzzles Wade’s armpit. “I’ve missed you.”

“Ass-lick.”

“Missed that too.”

“I’m all yours and as much as I would love to say all clean, but you’re getting what you deserve – dirty. Bedroom?”

Peter kicks off his sneakers “Wade, do we have…”

“I’ll look for some.” Wade heads to the kitchen.

Peter drags himself upstairs to Wade’s double-bed and falls on the pillows. Finally! May be he should’ve chosen his own bedroom instead, but hell, if he is going down, at least he is doing it surrounded by Wade’s smell and warmth. Peter is almost asleep when Wade shows up with paracetamol, makes him drink the medicine and undresses him. By the time Wade is tucking him in Peter drifts off.

Waking up in Wade’s bed is always nice, but not this time. His throat is extremely swollen and sore and the fever is still there. Damn, if he was Wade it would be so much easier and probably less painful in the long run to just cut off the inflamed tonsils and grow the healthy ones…

Wade wrapped in his red-black bath robe is sitting in the comfy armchair by the floor lamp reading – oh, god, no, it’s Faulkner this time, the ass-head is adamant to beat the A+ out of Mrs Tonelli and Peter is already on the verge of asking Wade to literally beat the grade out of her, because with his essays – it’s a third C in a row… A sudden bright thought flies over his otherwise heavy head: he must ask MJ to edit the paper or better yet – to forge the goddamn grade and present it to Wade!

Noticing that Peter is not sleeping anymore Wade perks up:

“How do you feel, prinzesschen? Die Nacht ist noch jung. Ready for all-night sex marathon?”

“Throat’s killing…” It’s painful even to think of speaking aloud. “Local anesthetic?..”

Wade squints his eyes, thinking. “I’ll see what I can do, cupcake. I can do you in the ass, actually, and there are few other ways around your sore throat…” and with that sweet promise he walks away.

Peter cannot believe that his free weekend is gonna be ruined by some god damn flu. And Wade… They’ve got plans for tomorrow, he waited for May’s work trip for so long… He is so upset he would’ve cried like a baby had he more energy.

Wade reappears carrying a white bundle and a thin scalpel-like steel knife that Peter’s never seen before. He unfolds the bundle, and it is a huge plastic – damn, it’s a body bag, with a zipper, handles and all! Peter hasn’t thought they have those in the house.

“Wha-at?” he croaks.

Wade’s grin is broad, carnivorous “Can’t look anymore at you suffering, baby. Gonna finish you off, stop the agony.”

Wade takes the knife between his teeth, rips off the blanket, throws the pillows on the floor, lifts Peter and puts the bag under him, then mounts his hips. The air is cool against Peter’s fever and the sensation of plastic touching his skin is not very pleasant, too, and it burns where their bodies are touching.

“So?” the glittering knife is spinning and flying in Wade’s right hand, fastly, deadly, till Wade accidentally cuts himself and a slow red drop falls on Peter’s chest. He abruptly stops playing with the knife and grips it – and touches Peter with its tip mesmerizingly slowly and feather-like, circling the nipples, moving the blade from his chest up to his collarbones, scratching slightly but not ripping the skin where the pulse is beating hurriedly, pressing stronger at his chin and making Peter tilt his head… Wade is feverish, pupils blown, breath quickened, he looks Peter in the eyes and, the air caught in the aching throat, Peter opens his mouth and he can swear – it’s Wade who moans, not him.

“Wider, princess, you need to open your perfect lips wider for me,” Wade whispers and not waiting for Peter to comply cuts his left palm letting the blood dripple in Peter’s mouth. It quickly stops, though, and Wade makes another cut, deeper this time, the blood splashes all over, hot saltiness enfolds the insides of Peter’s mouth, his tongue and throat, and he hurries to gulp thickly before Wade makes the third cut. “Peter, baby, you are so perfect, you are the best thing that happened to me, Peter, Pete, my sweet boy…” Wade’s breathy voice is trembling, he pierces his palm and with a low grumble twists the knife a few times, the sound of a torn flesh is loud and sickening, blood is streaming on Peters’ face, neck, shoulders, he swallows, Wades moistens his other hand and coats their hard-ons. Peter whines, throat numb, heart beating rapidly, and suckles hungrily on the bloodied fingers while Wade strokes them both into hot sticky salty darkness…

* * *

Peter wakes up from the sun shining in his face, warm bodily redness seeps through his closed eyelids, but when he opens his eyes the room is white and clean and normal, he is snuggled up to Wade under the soft blanket. The galaxy of golden specks of dust is floating in the sun-lit air.

“How are you, prinzesschen?”

“Good”. And Peter indeed feels well-rested and full of life. He nuzzles Wade’s shoulder, wanting to wallow some more and wondering about the yesterday. Was it a dream?

Out of the corner of his eye he notices on the night table the long shining object – and Wade is again too fast, in half a second he snatches the knife and is on top of Peter holding him in a tight grip, pressing the blade to his throat.

“Not sore anymore?”

“Perfectly healthy.”

Wade strengthens his grip, oh, damn, this time he means it for real. Peter, squirming under the 200 pounds’ weight, waits for the right moment.

“And why didn’t you fight back yesterday, dimwit? I’ve taught you that you must get the upper hand in all confusing situations, don’t I? Wanna resume our daily battles royale like before?”

Now. Peter flips Wade, mounting him and webbing his hands to the wall. To take away the knife from a clenched fist is like taking a candy from a baby. He tickles Wade’s chest with the tip but then throws the blade on the armchair.

“Nope. I didn’t fight back because I knew what you were up to… well, except the sexy part. That was – hot.” Peter moves his hips slightly back and forth.

Wade wriggles in vain trying to free himself, huh, bite me. “Awww, little brat, don’t think that you’ve won over me so easily! I’m holding back!”

“No you aren’t!” Peter grips Wade tighter with his hips. And they both are naked. Like yesterday. Damn!

“Yes I’m.” Wade bucks his hips up, and again, and again, devilish grin on his lips. “Because I know what you are up to!”


	2. What Peter was up to - kinda sex scene, but not really

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little additional - well, may be it's a sex scene, but I still prefer to leave it unrated, cuz I failed to type dick or fuck even once. Geez, just how do people manage to write smut?   
On the other hand, sometimes I think that sex from Wade's slightly awry POV should be described exactly like that. What do you guys think?

* * *  
Wade lies, of course, about still being in control, this time Spidey totally got him, even the dirty trick with pressing his third katana tighter to that lovely hot place in-between boy's thighs doesn't shoo Peter away, not shy anymore, my little one, nor ashamed, so sweet, pliant, soft, and yet at the same time so – ah, damn, Wade thrashes under Peter and kicks – so adamant and resolved in some ways. No, Wade still can shake him off with a full body momentum, just a good jerk, oh, he will show you the jerk…   
And Peter indeed smiles and slightly leans back, not even looking at how his wrists dance easily, graciously and the pearly strings of web glue Wade's legs to the walls.  
“Gotcha.” He whispers.  
Perfect. Wade is now laying all stretched and exposed like a fuckin frog ready to be prepared. He pulls once more at the webs, muscles tensing, but the ties are strong, he only feels them vibrating like singing strings, heart strings, nerves – tug all you want, Pool, tied up tight, helpless. Better not to close his eyes or he might get – ideas, some things are just imprinted on the retina, burned into the neural pathways, stuck into his fucked up mind forever, and for Peter to be there – in that nightmarish picture – is just wrong, even the twilight zone of Wade's everyday life is a deterioration, a downfall, because Peter is from the other side, from the sun-lit part, the ends of his soft brown hair are glowing in the morning light and the skin looks golden and shining, the amber syrupy gaze trickles lazily all over the strained body, it’s sores and blemishes, sticking to every square inch, to every mark, and finally stopping at the face, but Peter’s hands are still wandering along Wade’s arms, shoulders, chest and there it is – the tenderness if not the shyness. And he is drowning in it, the honey syrup is now all over Wade, it’s thick in the air and heavy in the breathless lungs, a deep pool of the sick sweetness building up in his groin – and Peter kisses and touches and wriggles, leaning over and pressing closer, wrapping himself around Wade, melting over and into him – wet fingers, slick tongue on every piece of skin and inside every willing opening… He hasn’t noticed being freed – because he is caught, indeed, moaning and trembling, he is cut open, heart leaping like an ugly frog, – till Peter pushes inside him and he jerks forward to meet his boy, arms and legs wrapping around Peter’s thin frame, catching him, too, lulling and pulling him closer and dragging deeper into the treacle pool, and they both, fly and spider alike, are drowning in the amber of this golden morning, bodies entangled, muscles strained with the sweet effort, longing for the final wave to hit and carry them away...  
And then, Wade lazily thinks, stroking soft brown strands, spent and motionless Peter stretched across his sticky chest and their heartbeats playing one ragged broken rhythm, then they will go for a walk along the beach later in the evening and the sea will wash up a golden stone right under Peter’s feet…


End file.
